


Trains of Thought Don’t Usually Have a Destination

by AlexTheNonBinary



Series: Original Works [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Autophobia, Blood, Broken Bones, Claustrophobia, Eisoptrophobia, Gen, Gore, Implied Torture, I’ll add more tags as I add more chapters, Light Angst, My Train Of Thought, Needles, Scopophobia, Small mentions of blood, This seems to be an expression of my fears, WTF Brain, a bunch of phobias okay?, fears, i apologise in advance, i tried to go for disturbing and failed horribly, implied rape, not that dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 02:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30098562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexTheNonBinary/pseuds/AlexTheNonBinary
Summary: The subconscious isn’t orderly - therefore nor are our trains of thought. Funny, being called ‘trains of thought’, considering these trains never really have a destination.- INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS IN EACH CHAPTER -
Series: Original Works [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2214702





	1. Black, White, and Red

_**Warnings** :_

_Blood, mentions of/implied claustrophobia, autophobia and scopophobia, lack of self-worth, and fear of ones self._

  
A young girl with silky brown hair twirled about in a red, white, and black room, crimson blood staining the felt-embroidered skirt of her white dress.

Eyes grow from the walls, watching the girl with keen interest - but she doesn’t care, the gaze of the judges are the last thing on her mind. She has had dreams, she knows what happens next. 

Her black tap dancing shoes are scratched and worn, but the pristine white socks beneath them make them seem almost new. Or maybe that was the blood splatters - either way, the judges weren’t impressed by her show.

She didn’t care - or so she told herself. Hate poured from their scrutinising gazes, making her feel small in this room of black, red and white. Like an insignificant speck of dirt flicked off of someone’s shoulder carelessly, or a leaf crunched under a shoe only for the crusher to be disappointed by her lack of crunch.

Disappointment. Disappointment in _her_.

She was scared of that, not the walls that began to close in, suffocating her with cold glares and judgment more than the lack of oxygen. A table appeared behind her and she fell backwards onto it, only to fall right through as though it was never there.

No one to fall back on.

That scared her too, not the way the roof grew spikes that were sharp enough to pierce the metal clock on the wall without hesitation even as it cried out in pain. It seemed to look at her, numbers falling the same way a face might. She herself couldn’t-

Herself.

She was scared of herself - what she could _do_ , who she could _hurt_ with such ease, who’s hurt she could _ignore_ just to make herself feel better because she was _horrible_ and she just wanted it to _stop stopstopstopstopSTOP-_

It stopped.

She didn’t.


	2. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue was his favourite colour.

_**Warnings:** _

_Blood, implied torture, implied rape, needles, Eisoptrophobia, broken bones, gore._

Pain hurts. Clearly, that much is obvious - it’s the definition, after all. He’s scared of the spikes that threaten to make him bleed, ignoring his cries for someone,  _ anyone _ , to help him.

Black hair was matted with dirt and blood, the same crimson liquid that stained the wooden chair that thick, black leather straps trapped him against. He couldn’t tell if it was electricity or whips this time - he just knew it hurt.

Bright blue walls made him feel childish - the sort of thing you may find in a daycare for toddlers, plastic cars and toys spread all over the ground like rainbow sprinkles that kids adored so deeply.

Sprinkles turned into blood splatters, toys to weapons and plastic cars to needles. He hadn’t seen the doctor for a while - he wonders if that’s good or bad. Perhaps a bit of both.

He’ll be saved from physical pain for now, but without the distraction he’s forced to see his reflection instead. There were mirrors everywhere, and where there wasn’t would lay a pool of blood, casting his tired gaze back at him like a tennis ball.

Blue.

He used to like the colour - until cloudless skies turned into deceivingly cheerful children’s rooms, the blue uniforms that should bring both fear and comfort to children stained with blotches of red as the older man stalked towards him, beckoning him forwards with a lollipop.

He had gone, because Mommy always said  _ ‘they’re here to help!’ _ with her cheery tone and warm, comforting smile.

Mommy lied. Mommy had been lying for years.

_ ‘I’ll always come for you, even when you’re lost!’ _

Lair.

_ ‘Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from harm, my little Blue Honeybee.’ _

**Lair.**

_ ‘Mommy loves you so much. I’ll always be here for you.’ _

**_LAIR!_ **

If Mommy was always going to be there for her little Honeybee, why did he watch her crumple in pain before him, hissing out  _ ‘This is all your fault. You’re not a honeybee, rotten child. You’re a wasp.’ _ as he cried out for her.

His crying had stopped when the doctor came back, heart-shaped lollipop in hand, waving tauntingly. Honeybee - no, he was a Wasp, that’s what Mommy called him, so that’s what he is - reflexively tensed up and curled into himself the best he could.

Red lollies that once made him feel warm inside when his friend gave him one on the preschool playground now represented the hate from Mommy and the pain the doctor brought. No matter how much Wasp would cry out ‘no’ or ‘stop’, with tears rolling down his cheeks, the doctor would never listen.

The sweet treat that reminded him more of blood than the love the sugary heart was made to represent was forced into his mouth - not that he bothered to resist anymore, not with that sadist of a man hanging over his head - by the doctor’s unforgiving hand.

Wasp, for the first time since the doctor had taken him away, wondered if the man was a real doctor. Was the badge just as face as his smile? Were his tools just some painful replacement?

Was that blue, that shade that Wasp wished he could still associate with the sky, just another ploy to trick him?

It only just occurred to Wasp that yes, he was a fake.

No wonder kids are targeted - but naïveté only goes so far.

Wasp just wants to see the sky again. He’d do anything to do that - not staring at the mirrors on the roof that seemed to mock him for being so  _ stupid _ . He agreed with his reflection, but he hated seeing his own face filled with so much resent and anger.

He decided he didn’t want to be here anymore. Not where the doctor could hurt him, not where electricity would tear through his bones when he dared speak, not where his reflection haunted him like a ghost.

Wasp glared at the doctor, who looked back down at him with a relaxed smirk. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. Wasp snarled and bit down on the doctor’s arm, relishing both the taste of blood on his tongue and the agonised screams of the doctor as the bone shattered within two sharp, solid rows of teeth.

Wasp let go, only to bite back down again. He was going to make this doctor  _ suffer _ like he had to. Bone crunched into splinters beneath skin as Wasp squeezed his jaw harder at the thought of what the doctor had done. 

“You’re a bear!” The doctor screamed as he pulled his hand away, running towards the door the moment he was freed, “A bear, I tell you!”

Wasp smirked sadistically as his teeth went to his leather bindings, tearing them with ease. “Bear it is then,” he chuckled darkly, walking over to the doctor, who had frozen, “Blue Bear.”

Bear struck down with more force than he thought possible and killed his captor, looking at his blood-soaked hands and realising that now he was no better than that man. He looked up, staring at his reflection and saw the man he didn’t want to be.

Actually, no. Not man.

Child.


End file.
